Tell Me Who I Am
by Laura Schiller
Summary: My imaginary ending for ep. 13. We can all guess whom Violet finds behind that cottage door. Violet/Gilbert, Gilbert & OC.


Tell Me Who I Am

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Violet Evergarden

Copyright: Netflix

"It is a pleasure to meet you. I will travel anywhere to meet your request. Auto Memory Doll Violet Evergarden - "

She looked up from her curtsey and faltered in the middle of her introduction. Her mouth had gone dry at the sight of the man before her.

Leaning against the wooden doorframe of a remote mountain cottage in Gardarik, thin and tanned and weather-beaten, wearing his ink-blue hair much longer than military regulations would permit, and watching her with polite curiosity out of those emerald eyes, was Major Gilbert Bougainvillea himself.

" – at your service," she finished faintly.

Was she hallucinating? Surely not. She wouldn't have hallucinated the Major in a flannel shirt, denim trousers and muddy working boots. In her dreams, she always saw him in uniform. And he always smelled of gunpowder and army soap, never of hay.

Could this be nothing more than a coincidence? She had run after blue-haired men in the street before, and they had always turned out to be strangers. Her head was spinning. Her heart pounded in her ears.

"Major … Bougainvillea?" she forced herself to ask. "Is that you?"

He frowned in confusion. "I believe that was my rank once, yes," he said. "And the name sounds familiar … Do you … do you know me?"

He had forgotten her.

This man had meant everything to her. She had suffered his loss like the loss of her arms for four years and he had forgotten her.

She knew it would disgrace her reputation as both typist and soldier to faint on the job. But her vision was growing dark around the edges, her knees were weak under her voluminous skirts, and there was no telling what might have happened if a most prosaic sight hadn't interrupted them both: a plump, middle-aged peasant woman in a black dress, with her gray hair in a braid around her head.

"Oh, my dear, you must be exhausted from the journey," she said in a strong Gardarik accent, bustling forward and catching Violet's arm. "What were you thinking of, Vanya, making her wait outside? I know how delicate you city girls are. Sit down, now, and let us make you a nice cup of tea. I'm Dounia, by the way."

Violet was the furthest thing from delicate, but she couldn't be bothered to argue with the older woman. She let herself be led into the small living room and deposited into a cushioned rocking chair by the window.

She watched Dounia and her – servant? foster-son? whatever Gilbert was – make tea in the local manner, heating water in a large, elaborate kettle and setting out jars of strawberry jam for seasoning. She had never been fussy about what she ate or drank, but a small, distant part of her couldn't help picturing the face Captain Dietfried would make if he knew his brother was drinking Gardarik peasant tea.

Gilbert. Alive. She couldn't take her eyes off him. Every move he made seemed a miracle. She clutched her emerald pendant and reminded herself to breathe.

"I'm truly sorry I can't remember you, Miss … Evergarden, did you say?" He placed a clay mug in her hands and sat down on a footstool opposite her. "I took a head injury during the war, you see. I lost my memory."

"What happened?" Violet blurted out before she could stop herself. She knew it must be painful for him to think about, but she had lain awake nights wondering what had happened after she lost him and she could not bear the wait any longer. "How did you get here?"

"The Gardarik army found me in the ruins of a church after the battle of Intense," said Gilbert. "I was in bad shape, but they decided to save me because of the insignia on my uniform. They figured since I was a high-ranking officer, they could hold me for ransom." A bitter smile crossed his face, giving him an uncanny resemblance to his brother. "Only, since my ID tag got lost – or stolen – and I couldn't remember my name when I woke up, they decided I wasn't worth the trouble after all and shipped me off to a prisoner-of-war camp."

"A nasty place, by all accounts," Dounia interrupted with emphasis. "Made me ashamed of my own countrymen, so it did. I found the boy in the forest after he escaped. He was half starved and dressed in rags. Never mind where he came from, nobody deserves that, so I took him in. If my own son had survived, God rest his soul, I'd have wanted someone to do the same for him."

The old woman's eyes went to a photograph which took pride of place on the mantel of the fireplace. It stood on a white lace doily and had a black ribbon attached to the frame, made of the same material as Dounia's dress. A vase of flowers stood next to it. It showed a tall young man in a Gardarik cadet's uniform, with the same hooked nose and dark eyes as Dounia. He could have been any one of Violet's wartime kills, and a familiar guilt stabbed her at the sight.

But Dounia wasn't finished with her story, so Violet recalled her wandering mind and listened.

"But he was always restless, you know? Wanted to know where he came from. That's only natural. Which is why we contacted you in the first place, Miss. Since the peace treaty means we're allowed to send mail to Leidenschaftlich now, we thought, who better than one of those famous Leidenschaftlich Dolls to write our advertisement? I've always longed to have one of you write for me, like a lady. Thank God the farm's doing so well now that trade's picking up again, or we could never have afforded your fees."

"An advertisement?" Violet asked.

"In the _Tageblatt,_ " said Gilbert, in a matter-of-fact tone that soothed her jumbled nerves better than the tea. How could she have forgotten how deep his voice was, and how precise he was with his words? "I was planning to share my story in the hope that someone would read it and recognize me. But Dounia can't write, and I wasn't sure how to fit it all into a small newspaper column, so … " He shrugged as if to say that the rest was history.

"Well, we don't need the newspaper anymore, do we, my boy?" Dounia beamed as she added an extra dollop of jam to Gilbert's cup. "Not when Miss Evergarden here knows you already."

Her wrinkled dark eyes flicked down to the emerald pendant, then to Gilbert's green eyes, then back at Violet again with a proud and happy twinkle.

"Yes." Gilbert leaned forward and caught Violet's gaze, an intense hope lighting up his features. "Please, can you tell me who I am? I've wanted to know for so long."

Violet, who had a black hole inside her where a normal person's childhood memories would have been, knew exactly how that felt. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cry on his shoulder, outlandish as that idea would have been during their military days. But the last thing he needed right now was an emotional scene. What he needed was the truth.

"Your name is Gilbert Bougainvillea," she said, in a voice as calm and steady as she could make it. "You are a major in the Leidenschaftlich army. Your parents are the late Marquis Friedrich Bougainvillea and his lady Edith. You have a younger brother named Dietfried who serves as a captain in the navy."

Gilbert took a long, shuddering breath and dropped his head into his hands, slumping on his footstool as if four years' worth of tension had been released in a second. When he straightened up, his eyes were wet.

"I have parents," he murmured, as if to himself. "A brother … all this time … "

"There now!" Dounia clapped her hands in wholehearted delight. "Isn't that wonderful? I always knew you had to be from a noble family, Vanya – sorry - Gilbert. No wonder you talk so well!"

"You may not be so grateful for your family when you meet Captain Dietfried," Violet felt compelled to point out. "He is argumentative by nature, and you have very different ideas about personal grooming."

To her confusion (humor was still the most difficult social grace for her to learn), Gilbert laughed.

"I'm sure you're right," he said, wiping his eyes. "But I'm looking forward to those arguments."

Violet thought of Captain Dietfried's men knocking her out with chloroform and packing her into a cardboard box (though, to be fair, she had killed a few of them first) and said nothing. She could bring that up later if she absolutely had to, but there was no reason to sour the brothers' relationship from the start.

"What about you, Miss Evergarden?" asked Gilbert, smiling softly. "What am I to you? Excuse me for being so forward, but it isn't every day such a lovely young lady knocks on my door and calls me by my true name."

The words "lovely young lady" gave her such a start, her mug of tea slopped over her hands. The old Major would have remembered her as a skinny, shaggy-haired child in an oversized uniform, sleeping in leaky tents, drinking out of tin cups and brawling with men twice her size. There had been no room for gallantry in their lives. To hear him address her now the way he would one of his aristocratic peers was a jolt to her system … but not entirely unpleasant.

Ignoring the stains on her gloves – the last thing she wanted to do was shock these two again – she took a big gulp of heavily sweetened liquid before answering.

"You were my guardian," she said. "You found me when I was a child, with no memory of where I came from. You took me in. You taught me to read and write."

After that, she was lost for words. She could have filled books about their relationship and still not come up with a clear answer. How could she tell him he had been the whole world to her once? That she had nearly lost her will to live after losing him? How could she tell him there were days, such as after her assignment with Mrs. Magnolia and little Ann, when she had hated the Bougainvilleas – well, mostly Dietfried, but also Gilbert - for taking away any chance of her having a normal childhood? Although, remembering how savage she had been then, a normal childhood would probably have been impossible in any case. Still, they might have tried.

But it was Gilbert who was responsible for her finding work as a Doll, a job she loved, with a circle of loyal friends. He had told her to live and be free, and she had done so. She had fought to become strong enough to live without him - and here he was again.

It was enough to make her wonder whether God had the same sense of irony as Captain Dietfried.

"Your guardian?" Gilbert looked somewhat taken aback, as if that wasn't the answer he was hoping for. Dounia, however, was completely unsurprised.

"That sounds just like him, the silly boy." She gave her foster-son an affectionate swat on the arm. "He even feeds the squirrels that keep eating my tulip bulbs."

"Come on, Little Mother." Gilbert blushed. "Must you tell her that?"

"Not that I'd compare you to a squirrel of course, Miss. You're much prettier."

"I've often wondered if I would have the strength to do what Dounia did for me." Gilbert smiled at both women despite his embarrassment. "It feels strange to find that I already have."

Violet looked between the little old woman and the young man, remembered running side by side with the Major through a fusillade of gunfire, and shook her head. "I do not believe the situation is entirely the same. I never called you - " She hesitated over the Gardarik term of endearment. "Little Father, or anything similar. You were always just the Major to me."

 _You said you loved me._ Most inconveniently, she blushed.

"Well, that hardly fits anymore, does it?" Gilbert's sudden radiant smile made her wonder if he felt as relieved as she did that father-and-child roles were off the table. "They must have struck me off the army records years ago. Would you mind terribly calling me Gilbert instead?"

The old Violet would have been baffled by the idea. She had barely understood how to separate a man from his rank, how to distinguish between love for a person and loyalty to a commanding officer. But she had grown up a good deal since then.

"I will," she said. "If you call me Violet."

"Violet … " He glanced over in the direction of Dounia's son's photograph. The flowers in the vase were violets – wild ones, the same variety that used to grow on his family estate. Her namesake. "They've always been my favorites." He smiled and ducked his head, a surprisingly boyish gesture. "This explains why."

So he had not forgotten her after all. Despite his injury, despite everything he had gone through in the camp, some part of him must have remembered.

He held out his hand for her to shake. "I'm delighted to meet you, Violet. Again."

He had touched her often in their old life, to pull her out of a bullet's path, check her for injuries, hold her back from attacking someone in anger or make sure she didn't get lost in a crowd. But she couldn't remember the grip of his large, strong hand making her feel quite like this.

Dounia, once more, broke the spell with her practicality.

"I'll have to hire a new farmhand," she sighed. "What a pity. Lord, but I'll miss you."

"We're at peace now, remember?" Gilbert patted the old woman's wrinkled hand. "I can visit you as often as I like. And if you want to write to me, all you need to do is hire a Doll."

"CH Postal Company will be happy to assist you, Mistress Dounia," said Violet. "It is the least we can do in return for saving Gilbert's life."

It was the first time she had referred to him by his given name out loud, and it gave her a rush of joy she couldn't explain. She caught Gilbert's eyes behind Dounia's back. They were brighter and more beautiful than any piece of jewelry could possibly be.

Part of her still wished for the old Major, the one who ruffled her hair and helped her with her target practice and read her reports. The one who remembered that he loved her. But since he was the one who had helped her into a new and better life, the least she could do was help him in the same way.

There was no way to go but forward. As always, Vilet Evergarden was ready for the challenge.


End file.
